


Something Bad

by emmi_hayes



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Friendship, minor spoilers from Death Cure, pre-thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:46:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmi_hayes/pseuds/emmi_hayes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt doesn't know why, but he's not looking forward to the newbie showing up tomorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Bad

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to know why Minho was there when Thomas arrived. 
> 
> If I write any more drabbles I'll likely toss them here.

Minho had just sat down with his dinner, a plate of Fry’s Surprise, when someone stepped between him and the fire, casting his already dubious meal into shadow. Not looking up, Minho mustered the energy to snark, “Thanks, I’d hate to see what I’m actually eating here. It’s better not knowing.” 

“Minho.” Newt’s tone was no-nonsense, but not in the normal way. There was a graveness to him, and Minho had never heard his name so hollow on anyone’s lips before. 

Minho looked up at the taller boy with a blank face. Newt looked just as grim, even in the low lighting, his blonde hair glowing around his pale face. “What is it?” Minho didn’t like whatever this was all about. Things had finally started to get back on track, and then today had turned everything on its head once more. This ominous meeting felt like the icing on the cake, and Minho couldn’t even remember ever having cake. 

“Don’t go into the Maze tomorrow,” Newt said. Something rushed through Minho, not quite anger, but close to it. He was about to ask just why he should do that, but Newt arched an eyebrow rather impressively. Minho stayed quiet and let the other boy continue. 

"Tomorrow is Greenie Day. Alby, he’s _trying_ , but Minho, he was not cut out for this.” Newt wasn’t talking loudly, but he also doesn’t lower his voice. Minho glances around, the closest boys too far to hear Newt over the general chatter. 

“What do you want me around for? To welcome the new guy with a hug and a kiss, maybe get him a fruit basket?” Minho knew Alby was running on fumes, but his presence wasn’t going to help make everything better. And with Ben getting stung, Alby was sure to be more stressed than ever. Minho did not want to be around that. 

Newt didn’t rise to the bait. He rarely did, but Minho wasn’t about to stop trying. The blonde boy just sighed and took a seat on the log next to Minho, making the Runner scoot over. “I’ve got a bad feeling,” Newt said quietly. “I can’t explain it, but I just know well and good in my gut that something bad is about to happen.” 

Minho couldn’t stop the snort, and Newt glanced up at him with unsureness on his angular face. “You say something bad is about to happen, but look around, shuckface. In the last three weeks Nick has died and Ben has been stung. I’m not seeing how all of that was daisies and tea parties.” 

Newt looked down at his hands, hanging limply in front of him. His elbows were planted on his knees, long ghost-like fingers hard to see in the fire light. “Yeah. I’m not saying things aren’t shucked, I’m just saying,” Newt paused and his mouth twisted as he stared into the flames, as though they might give him the words he wanted. “I’m saying that it might not be over. I’d just like you to be here tomorrow. Alby and I are going to be busy enough as is.” 

Minho grunted, pushing his food around on plate with his fork, it was likely cold now. Looking around, Minho focused his attention across the fire. “Stanley,” he barked, putting some of the authority into his voice that made the greenbeans give him distance. 

Stanley, a wiry boy with eyes as warm as his olive complexion, jogged over after setting his own plate on the ground. “Yeah?” 

“I need you to run my section tomorrow.” Minho said, keeping his face impassive. Stanley shouldn’t be back in rotation for another five weeks, but he knew Minho’s section best. 

“Yeah, sure,” Stanley said hesitantly, not hiding the fact he was a little confused. 

“Meet me in the map room after dinner. I’ll show you what rotation it’ll be on. Good that?” Minho was not about to take no for an answer. He stared up at Stanley waiting for a reply. 

“Uh, good that.” Stanley turned slowly, paused half way around, then retreated back to his buddies on the other side of the fire. 

Newt had sat silently through the whole thing, watching the exchange with a stoic face. When Stanley was gone though, his lips curled up slightly on one side. That was practically beaming for Newt. “Thanks,” he said. 

“Eh,” Minho muttered, frowning down at his plate, “don’t mention it.” Minho wasn’t entirely sure how to ask, but a question itched at the back of his mind. A thing they never, ever spoke of. “Newt?” Minho wasn’t sure what else to say. 

Newt looked up at him with big blue eyes, his hair falling into his face as he tilted his head. It was about time to have it cut again. 

“You said you feel like something bad is going to happen,” Minho started, but his tongue grew heavy in his mouth and silence followed. Newt nodded, a frown forming as he waited to see what Minho was getting at. “You don’t mean, that you’re… You’re not having _those_ thoughts again, are you?” Minho asked in a hushed voice. 

Newt looked away from him, his shoulders becoming a hard line as he say up straight. After a moment he finally said, quite tersely, “No. That is not what this is about, Minho.” Newt stood abruptly, not looking at Minho anymore. “I wouldn’t do that to you shanks, not to Alby, the rest of the boys. Not now,” he hissed. “Sorry for interrupting your dinner.” Newt turned and walked off then, his steps funny as he tried to hide the limp in his gait. To Minho it had never been more prominent. 

“Shuck,” Minho murmured to himself, sticking a forkful of cold Fry’s Surprise into his mouth and not tasting it. He hoped whatever happened tomorrow, whoever the box sent up, it wouldn’t be as terrible as that conversation had been. 


End file.
